Click, Clack, Crack, Snap
by Candy3314
Summary: Raised with the mentor Slade instead of Batman, Robin is now Ravager, an infamous criminal that, under the strict control of his mentor, pulls off studious tasks and crimes against humanity. But what is to come as the Batman himself challenges Ravager's ethics, and perhaps one day, will pull him to the side of justice?... Not if Slade can help it.
1. The Best Errand Yet

**There will be multiple POV switches in later chapters! Please enjoy :) **

Honestly, this had had to be my most unique errand yet, followed closely next to the Big-Bad-Batman. You could say a man approximately within his early 30s running around in a bat suit and actually coming off as swear to Hell intimidating by FAR would have to be the weirdest thing you've ever encountered- And hey, so did I- But heck, try Mystifying-Ghost-Rider. Of course, he wasn't actually a ghost (duh), just a chemical junky who likes to pretend he's a ghost, and throughly flaunt it. I didn't even have a problem with it, other than that those were my Master's chemicals he's flaunting, and the big guy wants 'em back.

Staring down at the elliptically shaped cage of steel and adrenaline, I could only slightly conjure up some excitement that the testosterone and nacho cheesed audience seemed to literally spit. I wanted to be just as exhilarated to be here- I really did! Maybe just as much as the front row belly-beer coated in red paint man, but really, spending most of your childhood as a circus kid, jumping off every height imaginable and then a next part of your life spent trained stone hard to steal and beat other's to their near afterlife (all the while having been shot at a round total of who knows how many times), really took the fun out of all the necessity barbaric ways of entertainment. At least laying on the high beam, wind nice and cool, flipping my cape about, was nice.

The already hyped crowd roared to an even higher pitch, the death metal music chiming in with their rumpus as cooly striped neon vehicles entered from a black tent that blended right into the beautiful night sky onto the dusty gravel, their riders waving enthusiastically to the crowd, some even doing a couple tricks and kicking up more dust into the air, which was appreciated with much more shrill cries.

Their numbers as well as names were called overly-hyped up through a comically addicting to listen to voice on speakers placed throughout the make-shift stadium, and I made due with crouching up to standing on the metal bars as the wind picked up my cape more frantically, pushing at the soles of my black-clad feet and sending a smooth chill up my spine and I knew tonight'd be fun, grin already catching on.

The motorcycles zipped off, and from the stands came stage steam, bright spotlights spinning erratically around as the sound of the motors outplayed the already deafening shouts and music, but the sheer overture of my senses only made me grin more as adrenaline coursed through my body, thoughts of 'I'm going to lose focus of my footing' and 'I might fall' came through my head. The bars shook and vibrated under my feet but I kept perfect balance, waiting patiently for our ghost man to show.

It'd been a spreading rumor for this famous biker to crash into shows like this one and take the crowd for his own tricks, and to top it off, he was a ghost. You could see the appeal. These rumors had become so popular, in fact, that before they'd let people into the bleachers, I'd heard most of the conversations in the crowd revolving mostly around (if not the unbearable heat, that is) this ghost and not the actual show they were seeing.

They wouldn't be disappointed.

Before the riders could enter the obnoxiously named 'Death Pit' (a real _'Death Pit'_ is a 2 foot room with no visible exit and a whole lot of arsine gas waiting on a timer, thank you very much), an even more obnoxiously loud '_zroom!' _and resounding _'screech!_' exceeded all other noises, the speakers squealing into static as the fog cleared, and a bright white light shun from one corner of the outdoor stadium. All the drivers stopped in the faint remains of the stage mist, looking over at the silhouette rolling dauntingly, glowing in a strange unnatural way.

"It's the Ghost Rider!" a girl too old for the pig tails she was sporting shrieked, throwing her limbs around as if to draw more attention to herself even though she was literally the only one talking now.

Many shouts and chatter and even more hyperactive-excitement than before was the result as the audience was once again lively, and as if it were his cue, the silhouette biker slammed the gas of his rumbling motor and he wen't flying through the stadium, gliding along just out of reach of the bleachers in a glowing blue light. He cackled harmoniously, and the other drivers were trapped within his cycles as management began streaming out, calling out into their ear pieces as some even screamed obscenities at the unexpected guest.

A series of harsh clangs could be once again heard as the mysterious rider pulled out a thick chain, repeatedly slamming it along the ground, taunting the other drivers as he made his loops. The dust was building in the air as the events on the ground become less and less visible, and I began thinking it may be time to intervene.

The buzz of his motorcycle could no longer be heard, and the audience fell quieter as they tried to spot him within the dust before finally his ghostly glow could be seen atop the Death Pit, and his face became visible.

He was deathly pale- almost grey but still glowing unnaturally. His eyes were lined in artificial and natural darkness where his stark white irises blared out from his skull. His hair, on the contrary, was jet black and long and absolutely ridiculous- his outfit just the same with no armor; just leathers and peeks at his deathly skin. His bike, however, was a different monster entirely with huge engines, loud speakers, fire spouting from its pipes, spikes, and that same glow that Mr. Ghost was previously mentioned to have had.

He'd _clearly_ loaded up on whatever Slade's chemical was, and from what I can guess, used it to perhaps fuel his bike or maybe used it as material in the bike. Though the later was less likely.

"_Are you ready for a real show!_" he broadcasted in a raspy, electrical voice which I also guessed was the aftermath of Slade's drug. Boldly atop his fortress, he lifted his hands and began swinging his corroded chains manically.

A woman (heavily donned in her chest area, I couldn't help but notice as she jiggled uncontrollably) screamed widely, "Yes! Yes!" as the audience screamed with her in delight.

He smirked, spreading his arms out like some Jesus symbol, basking in his glory before I took it upon me to end the fest with the release of two expertly aimed shruikens to only nick both his arms. From this height the force I'd have to throw into them to even get close to him would surely rip his arm off or come damn near close if I wen't for the actual limb, so getting his attention would have to come first, kicking butt later.

Jumping from the high beam, grapple hook as my back up, I made it to the crunchy ground, slowly making my way to the sphere cage where atop he looked about in confusion.

His (insanely more creepy now that I was down to his level) white eyes looked franticly around the stadium revealing, now that his smugness was out of the way, his aggressive and unstable self. Most chemical druggies were such underneath it all.

"_Ha! You missed, loser_." His cocky (if a little shaky now) grin returned.

As if.

"_Who-?!_" he began to shout before I reached once again into my black (and very crowded looking) utility belt, flicking my wrist with much more ease up to his seat upon the throne. His eyes widened in shock as the bola wrapped quickly around his middle, pinning his arms to his sides before the balls attached to the string hit him hard in the gut, securing their place tightly around him.

The audience gasped as he lost his balance, falling from the metal sphere along with his motorcycle that was hooked in with his legs. A gruesome snap came after his short fall, the motorcycle trapping one of his legs under its cruel weight, most likely breaking it like a twig, if his painful howls indicated me right.

The formerly screaming-of-joy-woman now began screams of terror, the whole stadium following her like before. The rushed paddling and crunching sounds indicated the leave of their lively crowd, and roars from the other drivers showed that they, too, were making their escape. A shame, really. I hadn't had an audience for my lifework in such a long time.

His painful wails softened to quiet mumblings as he began wiggling in his restraints. There was no need for worry, because if his own vehicle hadn't done the job with his leg, the bola still strapped him tight from the use of his arms, and with his leg in its current state, standing wasn't high on the list of possibilities.

"_Who-Who are you?! Show yourself you coward! When I get my hands on you-you no good piece of-_"

"Hey, watch the language," I commented out of instinct, laughing a bit as his squirming body stiffened.

Believe it or not, but the one and only Slade Wilson, mercenary and killer of thousands, and my mentor, could not _stand _curse words, and I have the bruises to prove it. If I've_ ever_ seen a more whacked up moral compass...

His (still creepy) irises stared blindly at me, and I now noticed their slight red tint, magnified by his searing agitation, and it honestly was hard to not rub at my own eyes, itchy at the sight. They flickered uneasily into the darkness, unseeing of me in my camouflage.

I smiled. Black really was the best attire for this type of stuff, and I was covered in it. Black and red were my primary colors with a full body suit of black with only minimal amounts of armor that were barely visible and under my suit (slows me down, and for one who relishes so much on speed, it's a no-no), and then accessories such as my belt, gloves, the inside of my cape (the outside's black), and 'S' symbol across my chest a rich blood color. Even my hair was black! That wasn't as intentional though; I'm a natural raven-head.

This was something only one vigilante seemed to catch onto (two guesses who), the rest much more preferred their bright colored undies. Maybe it was a thing? I didn't feel much like trying it out, though... Not that Slade would ever allow it. Maybe I'll ask the next one I run into, and being the thief I was, that confrontation'd come soon enough.

"_Get out here! Face me like a man you FREAK!_" his struggles were getting increasingly louder, aggressive, and annoying so I finally stepped out from my comfy spot in the dark.

"Ok, ok, chill it, and lay off the cigarettes while you're at, k electrolarynx?" I quipped, and his eyes were on my domino mask's, immediately in rage.

"_What do you want?! Let me go- get this THING off me!_" he quickly demanded in a desperate need to find his dominance and intimidate me.

I rolled my eyes and walked forward to his crippling body that now grew silent as I approached, bending down to grip his greasy black hair in my gloved palms (they'd definitely need some washing later), wrenching his head up. I smiled sickly into his fearful pupils.

"I'm here for the material you stole from Slade," I hissed, eyes he couldn't even see piercing his.

"_Material?_" he gasped, and my eyes grew to slits as I wrenched his head higher before slamming his head into the prickly ground.

"You know what I'm talking about. Y'know, you're whole 'I am Ghost-Man' trick? I know what's behind the scenes..." He stayed quiet a moment too long after I said this, and I grinded his scalp further into the crushed rock. "_Where _is it?"

"_The bike. O-On the bike- Oh God, please get it off me,_" he choked, squeezing his eyes shut as his body shook uncontrollably now under the weight.

I removed my palm from his head, glancing slowly to the bike before looking back to the body beneath me. "I know that, Doofus. I mean on _you_."

"_I don't have any on me, I swear! Please-PLEASE get it off!_" His trembling had shredded down to mere instinctual quivers by now, his eyes still scrunched shut, and I knew he was going to pass out from the pain any moment now if I didn't relieve him from the heaviness.

I could just let him pass out and find the synthetic through scavenging around his stuff, but I liked things fast so I stood, uprighting the motorcycle from his crushed body easily. He heaved loudly, wheezing and convulsing and I made damn sure not to look down at his mutilated leg as I kicked open the thick leather part of the motorcycle, looking in to see a normal operating engine with a normal power source, meaning... The guy had _built the acidic into the vehicle?_ I mean, I'd pondered it but I hadn't actually thought it was even possible. Looks like I'm taking a ride home.

"Damn, who'd you buy this bad boy from? You're not telling me _you_ made this, are ya?" I laughed, inspecting the parts in interest. Now that I examined it, the glow was radiating off everything besides the leather and the obvious entertainment condiments, and even some of those were lit by a source that was not the chemical. Was this even safe? It might just be letting off some sort of radiation...

"_Hell yeah I did; born and bred by ME, and you should really look after your captives, KID!_"

I flipped backwards lazily as a heavy chain slammed the surface of the vehicle or what would have been me if I hadn't moved. Not a dent was left though on the miraculous bike as the Ghost-Man rose, holding the handles for support.

I crossed my arms and pouted at the sight of his other arm reaching over to the other that was supporting him, touching some weird pad within his leather vest that what I guessed was the trigger for the pulses of glowing energy now rippling through his skin. His eyes were now aflame in viciousness and something very, very unnatural.

"Awe, you said you had none on you," I grumbled through a mocking frown, arms still crossed as he slung himself into the seat.

"_Tough luck!_" he growled and charged forward at my small body.

Unmoving until he was mere inches from me, I placed my hand on top of the steering head, legs swinging over the vehicle and straight to his head. His shock, however, quickly shifted and he ducked his head in a record time so I only scraped his ear. I slid onto the ground on the opposite side of where I started. I slipped out a small box from my belt which I casually spun out to a full length metal staff, and waited for his next move.

He came speeding back, this time a few feet to the side of my body with his chain ready to clobber my head in. This time, I didn't wait. Pelting full force to the oncoming vehicle, I waited until I was close enough and then leapt up into the air into a front flip, clashing my staff into his chain, which from the impact and helpful physics, swung around the pole, rendering both our weapons useless and connected in our hands as I planted both feet onto the neck of the bike, crouched onto his still moving motorcycle.

He growled, glare fixed on me as he shook his hand holding the chain, trying to get loose. I only grinned and swept a foot out from under me to throw at least his midsection off balance, but he deflected with the very arm he was holding the chain with, but I'd kicked hard and he struggled to hold my leg off him which was quickly replaced with a punch coming the other way. He slid back and once again deflected with his arm.

I smirked before swiftly receding my staff back to its cube, the chain dropped free, and I busied my hands once again on his shoulders before hoisting the rest of my body up and crashed my feet straight into his face, meanwhile throwing my hands off his shoulders and back behind me to the now empty handles.

Ghost-Man flew back from the force (flipping, actually), almost falling off completely before in a desperate reach he caught on to the end of the motorcycle going at a speed so fast the world past as a blur- Oh, that reminds me! Driving.

I quickly spun off my back to face the front, and just in time to steer us hastily out of the way of a mean looking bolder. We were no longer within the stadium and now out into the open desert-like land. I glanced behind me to see Ghosty still hanging on there, making slow progress up the backside of the bike and I cackled, pulling a sharp left which nearly had him flying. He lashed like a rag doll (yeah, that leg wasn't looking too good) in the air, my cape letting off whipping cracks as it fluttered.

Slade had only let me drive a motorcycle a couple times (he made sure I had experience driving nearly every operable vehicle in history), and I soon had a new taste for why exactly I'd always been so insistent on driving them. We whisked timelessly over endless land and sky, and if not for the only slightly observable changes in the land and the smothering pressure of the wind, I could have swore we hadn't even been moving at all. The sky was pecked with myriad stars that were unrecognizable in Gotham's mask of polluted atmosphere, and I took full advantage of the fact that this was probably one of the few times I'll ever in my life time see a night sky so bright.

When I was younger, with my parents, I lived in a traveling circus. I was young and rash, so I rarely found the patience to watch the skies, but at particular places like the National something-something in Utah or that one time at Valantia Island my Ma would pin me down on top of our trailer, saying, "Look at the sky.", and then we'd watch the bright creases of light all night until I fell asleep, or Dad would let me look through his telescope to see Jupiter or Mars while he mapped the constellations and pointed them out to me. He'd say, "Y'know, bud, my Dad, and your Grandfather, was an astronomer.", and I'd happily reply back that I was gonna be an astronaut.

"_Help! HELP!_" a shrill voice came from the corner of my conscious, and I glimpsed leisurely over my shoulder to a screaming lunatic just a strand away from a plummet not kindly minded.

"Ah, shush up already, I'm almost done," I reprimanded, turning back to view the glistening night a longing moment longer.

"_You're-you're CRAZY!_" he puffed, clawing at the loose amount of leather he'd gotten his hands on.

"A bit," I respired gently.


	2. The Home In The Ground

**I'm not even gonna lie, I'm incredibly excited for this! I have allot of the story down and damn it's gonna be good... Or at least I think so. Please stay tuned, and thank you for all the follows and favorites. Enjoy! **

Clipping Ghost-Man securely into place among the railings in the bleachers, I stood, slipping on my black string bag which I'd left in the stadium and walked casually back to the bike. I'd tied down Ghost-Guy for the cops to prevent any vengeful come backs from him, or at least for now; Arkham Asylum wasn't exactly famous for its spectacular prevention of breakouts, after all. That is, if he'd even go to Arkham. I wasn't very sure which city this wasteland was located closest to.

Tossing a vile of florid acid happily, I placed it into one of my belt loops and swung my leg over the newly acquired motorcycle. One to add to Slade's many arrays of collectables. Waving energetically farewell to the groaning soon-to-be-jail-bait, I cascaded back over the desert land, pressing a quick passcode into my arm computer which instantly connected me to Slade.

"That took some time."

Even now, after nearly five years of apprenticeship, I'd still hesitate under that direct yet so unpredictable sound that was Slade's voice. Not that I'd ever show that, though. The best way to fight uncertainty, after all, is with bold pretending-to-be-certain that will hopefully end up getting you somewhere, be it a good place or a bad place. Or killed, in my case.

"What can I say? It was a good show."

The show wasn't actually all that good, I'd just enjoyed hurling Ghost-Man around so much that I'd lost track of time.

"I'm sending the pick up coordinates to you now."

"No need for a pick up this time around, boss; I've got a ride," I said smiling, adding, "and I think you're gonna like this one, Slade!" My voice had a certain sing-song ring to it at the end that I could never get away with in person.

From the short silence that followed, I could tell he was curious, but only gave a soft affirming nod of acknowledgment before he quit the call with a soft hiss of the screen going back to its neutral drawback, and after being left untouched for a couple more seconds, blacked out.

I'd rode until sun rise, which might I mention, was just as invigorating as the past night's stars, but also sort of dreading because once sun came up, heat rose with it, and out of all temperatures, heat was my least favorite.

Slade had trained me extensively in any and all weathers imagined, but that didn't mean I liked it any more than before. I could only endure it better, and when it comes to just about anything of my work-like, enduring is the key element. That, and consistency.

Luckily, the morning was still cool when I'd finally reached the small neighborhoods, green coming back into view, stores, shops, and then finally, the outline of Gotham's towers.

Our base (I didn't feel entirely comfortable calling it 'home') was on the close outskirts of the city, in a big solid box of a building near a harbor with plenty of other box-buildings. It was perfectly camouflaged among the other barely used storage units. To say my home, though, was a large storage unit wouldn't be quite correct. To be better put, I lived _under_ a storage unit. In the ground.

Riding up to storage unit number 205, I rolled slowly into the garage. The storehouse was relatively empty with only a few crates and a ladder on one end that lead to a high, steely balcony across the entire one side of the room. Under this platform was an old fashioned elevator, with the grate fence as its door and a considerable amount of ways to get your limbs or any other bodily possessions slashed off.

I left the bike for Slade's robos and walked into the elevator. I took the rusty crank, pulling then unwinding in a secret rhythm which only a certain handful of people knew. By the time I was done, it began to escalate quickly downward. Through the holes of the grate I could see myself passing the first few levels of Slade's hideaway where manufacturing goods and labs were, though he only had a few. Slade was more of a mercenary than a mad scientist. The many colors of these few factories (where only machines worked) were steamy, orange in an illuminating type of way, and dark.

The elevator clicked on until slowing to a stop upon a seemingly dead exit, but as the grate whined apart, I lifted my left hand to the cold, metallic surface. The shoal glowed a high-tech blue before the 'dead end' opened apart silently to a room which I stepped into.

The elevator was the very last thing you'd see in Slade's hideout that was even remotely considered 'old', by the way. Apart from his collections.

The entire room was a blinding white, from the walls to the floor to the few accessories kept around the the simply barren den. This round room was huge, with a high ceiling and wide encompass, but only contained a small rest area and kitchen.

The kitchen, shielded by an island bar with stools never used, was for Wintergreen, Slade's partner, and contained many appliances of steel and black colors. Even though Slade made sure I knew how to operate each one, I was no cook and only understood the nutritional aspects of food as well as which fruits, plants, meats, and spices were dangerous under certain circumstances. Once in awhile Wintergreen would cook up something good for me, but that was under the radar of Slade who only saw the survival benefits of eating.

The rest room was three, boxed in their position white couches, and a black, clear coffee table sat right in the dot middle of the couch's shape. There was no TV, but I was never a big fan of those anyways, being mostly on the road during my childhood and never having the right connection and/or equipment for it. I did like the few movies I had seen, though, but I'd never ask Slade to get me one.

Meetings with Slade and Wintergreen (especially with them both there at the same time) were rare in here, as it was only used with the influence of Wintergreen's will. I, too, had no need for this room. If I was going to relax, I'd do it in my own quarters, thank you very much! And definitely not within the sight of Slade. Not that he'd punt me the moment he caught me with my eyes closed or whatnot, but I'd never want a man like Slade to see me in any kind of vulnerable state, even if he was my guardian. I also, as previously mentioned, had no skill in cooking, so the value of this place was but nothing to me if I didn't have a meal or a conversation to have with Wintergreen, who honestly could be my lifeline sometimes.

I glanced to the clock on the island counter; it was just reaching 6, the usual time I was up and ready anyways. I'd been up all night, but was still awake enough to carry on with my usual duties like I knew Slade would probably force me to do so anyhow.

I was trained to stay active in all hours of the day, with as little or as much sleep as I could get, and still perform in the same accuracy every time. The furtherest I've gone was six days before Slade brought a stop to it. I honestly don't remember much from that time, but I do remember the heavy ache in my limbs, fingers, and shoulders- the icky taste in my mouth and a mind searing with anger at every word Slade'd say to me.

I walked further in to change into my casual wear (which wasn't at all casual, but was for my routine-life locked miles under the earth). I wouldn't have time for a shower. It was just as I left that I noticed the familiar shape of my guardian sat upon one of the couches, a simple, black journal held in his hands. My eyes snapped to his as the journal slapped shut, concealing its pasty, accessible pages.

His one, unchanging eye looked into me, and I leisurely changed my course to sitting on one of the couches beside Slade.

"Did you get my gift?" I asked, restraining the urge to plop my legs somewhere irregularly.

"Yes, and with all its... _contents_."

He meant the acid, which might I add, was literally made _into_ the bike. I still couldn't get over how cool that was.

No longer able to restrain the urge, I plopped my legs nonchalant onto the coffee table. His eye flickered to my dirty feet. I smirked knowingly at him, but his gaze was already back on the journal.

"It's being molted down as we speak."

I blinked in surprise at this. Usually Slade didn't give me any information I didn't need, but as I handled the words a little more in my head I began to discern his intent. This was his weird way of informing me that _no, you are not going to be riding this motorcycle again. _

I refrained from pouting- And it was such a cool bike, too! Maybe it needed a little patching up, sure ('cause, I mean, the spikes _had_ to go, and what's with the cheesy goth theme?), but it ran beauuutifully.

"Really? Wouldn't it be more useful whole than to just boil up into molten and throw into some safe, just to be stolen again?" I asked, leaning forward. "And then they'll make another cool bike and have all the fun while I'm stuck with pick ups-"

"This _lethal chemical _is unstable," he jeered, one permanently narrow eye looking over to me, "Plus, you've had your fun." He then resumed to his journal, and I could tell he was smirking beneath that cowl.

I looked at him with a 'that's not in the least bit funny' frown and he gave me an unimpressed eye scowl. It was still for a moment in the relaxed atmosphere that often came after a successful mission.

"Is there anything more you'd like to 'gift' me?" he asked icily with the tiny jab at my former sentence and I only grinned as I handed over the vile within my belt.

He grabbed it with his cold, gloved hand and I felt tingles of where his (not even bare!) hand had once touched mine (which, too, wasn't even bare). It was laughable how intimidated I was of him, but that's what Slade had wanted and I suppose that usually if things go according to Slade, they'll go according to my needs as well.

I retreated my hand back to my spot on the couch and watched him examine the chemical. He nodded to himself quietly, gazing at the vile which he rolled in his hands in a suspecting manner.

"Change and get a quick bite to eat. You're late for training," he said, standing from his spot and into the white hallway on the right. I followed soon after, but this time onto the left hallway.

Now, it may have seemed like I'd gotten off easy, but punishment was sure to come later during training. Slade never stood for lateness, and was persistent with his rules. Every spoken and unspoken rule was enforced with intense ferocity. I knew what was expected of me, and no begging or argument (no matter how valid) would ever change that; even if it came out to be for the better, which rarely, if ever, occurs.

When I'd finally reached my room after passing exactly seven identical white doors, I stopped on the eighth and repeated the same process from which I got into the first, circular room. The doors swished open, and I entered into my tiny, well kept room.

In the corner was a twin-sized bed with white sheets, neatly made with just one, firm pillow. Beside the stiff mattress was a small side table, also white, with a lamp atop, which was also white, and a stack of numerous non-fiction books. On the opposite side of all this was a drawer that was, as you might have guessed, white. This held on the first two slots my clothes and uniform, and then in the other two books, maps, markers, a few notepads, and puzzles. Then right in between all this was a regular door with a doorknob (thank God for normalcy, if I had to see another control panel just to open a freaking door I'd have an inner breakdown) which was my bathroom. It only carried necessity items like the toilet, shower (which was very cold, and very, very tiny), a sink, and one of those mirrors that can open up to hold your pills, toothpaste, and whatever. It may be bland, but it was simple and neat. I'd always stayed in closed spaces and cold showers my whole life anyways. At least I didn't have to share it with two people or more like when I lived in a trailer with my parents.

I didn't waste anymore time then I needed to, and stripped from my suit which landed scattered upon my bed. Opening up the drawer I slipped on my usual training attire, a plain white T-shirt and a stretchy black sports-material pair of bottoms with the same shoes that came with my uniform on missions: a black, comfortable boot. Sometimes Slade'd make me take off the shoes and go barefoot, but I always brought them just in case.

This getup was what I'd usually wear if not on a mission. I had a few pairs of civilian clothing just in case, but I'd only donned those, what, four times? I told you consistency was a major element in Slade's coaching.

After dress up, I jogged back over to the main room and hopped onto one of the stools at the bar, reaching over onto the counter for an apple in a black wire basket. I munched on this as I hopped back down and wen't back to the left hallway, where the main training room was. I'd become the master of snacking on the go, and by the time I'd reached the fourth door, all that was left of the apple's cruel juicy fate was its core.

The training room was a decent size, and perhaps one of the most colored rooms of the shelter... Well, at least in a delusional type of way. It was upgraded with some of the greatest technology, and when hit with a special projector could simulate nearly any canvas. When not alit, it was just a simple white room, with a few training equipment and tools.

Slade hadn't shown up yet, but I busied myself with some much needed stretching. My arms were still sore from the hours of motorcycle. I sighed deeply as I heard the chinks of my sockets popping, throwing my arms above my head and pulling at my fingers to span out my palm. I moved my head every which way, pulling my legs to places above my head and when I sat on the floor, laid my entire torso atop them, closing my eyes and feeling the muscles pull beneath my skin.

I was due for a nice stretch; I couldn't risk building up that prohibiting muscle. My specialty wasn't brawn (ha! Not in the _least_), but actually my acrobatic ability. Muscle could strain the limits, and take the best I could possibly reach in gymnastics to a much lower level easily without that extra range in flexibility. I also relied upon my speed, and that added weight? No good. Luckily I'd stayed as lithe as can be my whole life, taking my mother's genes on the height and size domain, while I adopted my Dad's dark hair. I had both their eyes, though; a nice, cornflower blue.

As I mused over our family reunions and Mom's midget folk next to Dad's belfry of skyscrapers, I finished up on my usual stretches and warmed up my body a bit, doing simple exorcizes.

I wonder what we'd be doing today? There was... somewhat of a routine to my instruction, but it was usually mixed every day. We may start out with a usual, basic workout like hand on hand combat, running on the track next door, or something like that until Slade recognized something I lacked in during these usual routines. That, or he'd do whatever he was in the mood for.

My favorite things to work on were definitely staff (I think it's my soul weapon), on the field exorcizes (involving the projector previously mentioned), and on the field vehicle exorcizes (for obvious reasons).

My least favorite subjects were acrobatic skills (Slade tended to push me my hardest in this area), mental exorcizes (traumatic and lots of headaches- This was also an area where he pushed me to the brink even though that's the whole point I guess but whatever I don't like it), and guns.

Guns would take a longer explanation than my usual sidenote, 'cause see, it was just a weird subject for me. I never really had a problem with guns (never thought about it, really), but when Slade had presented it to me things didn't... feel right. I was naturally talented at the gun, and usually when I'm particularly good at something, Slade likes to assault me so far into the subject that I ultimately begin to hate it like with gymnastics- But that's just it! That's what I'd _expected_. But Slade would just sit there as I fired off rounds, even having fun doing it, and after the continuous hours of that, with my ears numb to any noise, he'd walk over calmly, clasp my shoulder and smile down at me, pleased with himself... or... was it with _me_? It was so weird to see him not further explore my capabilities in a weapon, just settle for what I'd learned myself, and _trust me_ with that. There was also the fact that this was a _mercenary_ handing me a _gun_, and then asking me to shoot it, and guns were famous for their spectacular success of, like, _killing people_ and yeah, just little stuff like that. But in all seriousness, Slade hasn't made me kill yet, or even hint at it... but wouldn't he want me to do it one day? I was his apprentice- An apprentice of an assassin, and I hadn't even touched the subject of killing. But the way Slade'd smile; it was like he knew something. Was this his hint towards me? That he wanted me to kill, and was just leaving it to me to decide that for myself? That sounded far too considerate of him... But if it were the case, would I ever do it? I'd just always assumed Slade would force me into it one day, that it'd somehow be justified, that I'd have _help_, that I'd have no _choice_...

Whenever I couldn't understand Slade, is when I'm most afraid of him. So gun practice was one of those times where I'd resort back to a child under the eyes of the predator. It was so stupid- I was finally being praised for something and now I cower in fear of it. It really was quite silly.

But guns aside (Thank God, my heads hurting), the rest of my training stretched to anything you could possibly imagine. The ones I'd mentioned before were just a few recurring ones that stood out the most to me. Some subjects only happned once a year. In fact, my cooking lesson had only been briefed over once. I'd been told 'Don't forget', and I didn't. Every once in awhile he'd spring up those surprise quizzes over subjects covered months ago to make sure I had it memorized, and if I didn't, I was punished and then left to figure out the answers myself until the next day when he'd ask me again, and I'd better have the answers.

A few ones I can think of now just off the top of my head is shields, climbing equipment, climbing in general, equipment disablement and then rebuilding, robotics (Slade's favorite), business, politics, wildlife survival (another favorite of his), bomb tracking, people tracking, Gotham's villains profiles, worldwide profiles, endurance (Oh look! It's another one of Slade's favorites!), thieving, code breaking, hacking (I had a good knack for this one), _blind_ hand to hand combat (can I add this one to my least favorites list as well?), and heaps more. To say the least, I stay busy.

Slade's method was to hit it hard, and then hit it harder than that. Most sessions were never ending, and times when we would end (and I used that term lightly) was never scheduled. We just went until Slade felt he's at a satisfying end. Passing out or vomiting was not an excuse, but I rarely did that anymore.

Then there was the times when Slade'd outright beat me. I'd like to say there's a proper reason for each bashing, and sometimes there was, but most of the time... I'd often thought that it was Slade's way of keeping me on my toes, but why couldn't he just force combat onto me if that were the case? Then there was the part of me that knew; The part that secretly knew that Slade did it to vent his frustrations- that he did it to assert his dominance over me, but that was an almost insecure thing to do. Well, I guess I was just lucky to see that side of him then. That, or very, very unfortunate.

"_Remember, Dick: Second priority is to find an opponents weak point. Your first priority is to conceal yours."_

Figures that Slade's weakest point is when he's beating the life out of you.

**... Hint, hint, a hero will be featuring next chapter...**


	3. Gator's Game

**Pffft, updating? That's for losers... (jkjk im actually a no-good-douche) Enjoy! **

"Listen, Deathstroke, I-" The skinny, binocular man swayed in his over-sized suit. He seemed busy, or perhaps, trying to allude my attention from him, but that was only a thought as his sweaty, shaky appearance and scrambling upon his lab desk said differently to his work ethic currently. "I won't let it happen again."

"Oh yes, I know there won't be an 'again', Doctor Chang," I said threateningly, crossing my arms.

He paused at this, and his brows crinkled upward in the surprise that couldn't be seen through his goggles. He then flinched into defense. "You can't seriously believe that such a fluke would hardly call for you to-"

"Relax, I was merely referring to our partnership... See this as our last _conference_."

He smiled, his face a little too eager to snap back, "Partnership?!" He laughed a bit, shaking his head. "This was no _partnership_, Slade."

I felt something spark inside me at the name. Everyone knew it, I had been outed a long time ago. I didn't care then (though it was mildly inconvenient), and I don't care now, but we were upon no personal level for that term.

"We both know you're a solo act," he stopped speaking a moment, eyes going critical, judging, and off to the side as if inspecting something in thought, "along with that boy of yours."

Another spark lit inside at the utterance of my apprentice. This man was clearly over-estimating his immunity. Most people I worked with had the smarts to never mention, or even acknowledge, my apprentice. It was a subject never touched upon, because it was clearly _my_ business- business they had no need to know about. Then there was the curious bastards like Raul Al Ghul who wanted to know _everything_, but I only worked with him if I had to, and I usually was able to keep Ravager away from most of the foreign affairs. Too bad he was so talkative when he had the chance to be.

"Call it what you like, fact is, I want you permanently out of any and all of my business. Because if I ever have to have a confrontation with you again-" He was completely still, attentive to me, and easy to intimidate. "-I'll simply dispose of you."

Chang was troubled by this, and openly wanted to retort back, but his gapping, fish mouth closed and he nodded, looking away.

I waited for what I thought was an exceptional amount of time for him to give any more input (which was about five seconds; if it was important enough that's all he needed), before almost leaving the chat. He exclaimed before I could, though.

"Slade-"

I had had about enough of his ignorance and glared densely into his leaden gaze. He instantly caught on and corrected himself, "Deathstroke, I was thinking... How 'bout a farewell proposition?" He smiled encouragingly. "For old time's sake."

So he wished to depart on good circumstances then? I didn't see the doubt in it, as I'd only benefit from whatever favor he had in mind.

I leaned forward, twisting my fingers together in eerie reflection. "I'm listening," I said as he sat in anticipation.

He practically sagged in relief which I smirked at. It was a sure sign of submission and gave me the ok for complete control. Mr. Chang really did have things to learn when it came to this business. I'd never come into touch of a laboratory that had enough experience for the formality however, so I was used to the naivety. I only invested in low ranking operations, with workers that were promising, but didn't work for any big names. Big names meant they had connections and I liked to have a clean start with people; it made things so much less complicated. But that also came with having to cope with amateurs, so I moved from each dealer regularly when one managed to mess up enough. Like, for example, releasing a highly toxic chemical that isn't even yours to a teenager who made it into a bike so he could go play freak show in public eye view.

"I was thinking just a simple exchange- a little swap of goods. I, for a couple blueprints, and you, some _interesting_ information."

I cocked an unseen eyebrow at the cryptic explanation. I almost just logged off from the computer in spite of him daring to be sketchy with me after he begged for my attention and I bothered to stay and listen, but I was curious of this 'information' that a novice of his standard had managed to gather. Chang wasn't stupid, either; he knew when he had something of value... most of the time.

"What sort of blueprints?"

"The robot kind," he said, and I was immediately reeled back at the gut he must have had in requesting such a thing. Perhaps he _was_ stupid. Robotics were my specialty, something of great originality and value to all my success... and he wanted the blueprints?

Chang was quick to dash these thoughts he knew were flowing through my mind, and with a waving of his hands, spluttered in fear, "Nothing too big! Just the worker kind. Something that can clean up around the lab- Do menial tasks and the sort."

He waited in anticipation for my answer to this, which I did much quickly afterward (I was already wasting too much time on him), "What sort of information?"

"I know where you can get your hands on some kryptonite," he answered right away, as the sense of my impatience was thickening.

Very interesting... Most supplies of that were owned by either Lex Luther or stored away somewhere amongst undiscovered land. Very hard to come by, and perhaps very useful.

I looked up from my inlaced hands to his waiting goggles. "You have yourself an exchange," I spoke, and he grinned.

"Right on that," he quipped, nodding his head.

My eye narrowed down on him. "... Our_ last _exchange."

He frowned, but nodded once more.

"I'll send the blueprints within the next few hours. I want the information by nightfall," I ordered decisively and he only nodded more and more, going back to his business upon the desk, probably in preparation.

I glanced over his brisk and jerky movements with a trained eye. Seeing the type of situation we were in as of now, it wouldn't hurt to take advantage of it.

"As an afterthought-" He looked up to me from his work. "-I want this location as of now."

He hesitated, but resigned to my wishes, saying in what was supposed to be some exclusive sort of excitement, "The Batman."

I was done with his suspenseful ways, and urged him with a simple harsh look to elaborate. Unlike most goons, I never found _Batman_ as quite endearing as I found him over-rated- For Christ's sake, Gotham was practically infatuated with him!

"The Batman has some. In case of emergencies, I guess, but he always has it on him in a little lead pouch on his belt." He stared aloofly. "I even know where he'll be tonight. Word is he's going to bust Bane's dealers at the Gotham's Gator's game tonight, deep in the headquarters of the stadium."

I nodded to him after this with a quick, "You'll have your blueprints soon enough." and clicked off from the discussion, walking past the screens and operator chair to the training room. I took my own secret entrance into a chamber connected to the training room where the projector tech was held. In there was a one-way mirror to the training room Dick was unaware of, or maybe he was, it didn't matter much when any way it was his duty to put up with it.

As I watched Dick practice a few back flips on the balance beam in quietness, I contemplated tonight's assignment. This was no Ravager-type mission, more of a stint up my alley, or even my cyborgs if I could send out enough of them to overwhelm the Bats, but I'd hate to deal with disposing of the crippled's remains...

Dick began successfully with three swift handsprings before jumping into a double kick maneuver I'd taught him to take out two offenders coming from opposite sides, landing onto the mat with one more flip. I'd have to fix his momentum thing going on; you can never rely on _anything_ for your best performance (even space), that's how weakness is created... _relying_ on things.

My apprentice had intervened with Batman before, even sparred with him, many times. But a head on attack was never the circumstance, and Batman was usually preoccupied with another objective. Ravager was also exceptionally talkative around the hero, which I didn't condone with completely at times, especially when Batman showed a more concerned look about him every run-in. He seemed far too invested in Ravager's business which was my business, and even more so in my apprentice which was on a whole different personal level of _my_ business.

Batman was one of those curious bastards. I got why Raul Al Ghul liked him so much, they were so alike- But of course they covered this nosiness with flattering words such as 'detective' and 'genius'.

I looked at Dick once again, pondering. Maybe he _was_ ready to take on an assignment targeting a person of Batman's reputation. It'd bring him into the light of the League, perhaps, but no longer in a pitiable way. Ravager needed some criminal fame to harden him in other's eyes, no longer a manipulative notoriety label to hang around his neck, having people think they could bend him by his age like the sappy saviors they were.

And with that in mind, I walked into the training room.

You can imagine my surprise when Slade up and gave me a mission not a moment less from when he entered the training room. It must've been last minute, because usually Slade gives a heads up at least. I didn't mind though, anything was better than the inevitable punishments to come with training, and perhaps this would give him some time to cool down from my lateness and give me time to get in on his good side with a job well done.

What you_ couldn't_ imagine, however, was my surprise at what this said task was. I was ordered _(me,_ as in _moi_) to steal from _Batman_. What was _with_ all these crazy jobs lately? I was real excited though. Like, really excited. And nervous. Like, really nervous.

The mission was tonight, and it was only early morning, but Slade gave me this time to prepare, and I would need it not only physically but emotionally. I was usually pretty good about keeping my wits about me with particularly powerful opponents- opponents that I liked to act like I was in the same league with (sometimes even above), but really wasn't. It made them believe I was though, and sometimes, that's all you need to bring someone down; the illusion that you're better than them.

Like Bane- Man, what a guy. I've had a few encounters with him, each just as terrifying as the next, but with a couple of jokes and well placed electric shots, I've only _once_ been injured by him (broke my arm, he did. What Slade had done to me afterwards was even worse, though). I was lucky, Bats had broken his back by the hands of Bane once, or so I've heard; I don't get out much, or, at least, as much as I would like to.

Back to the topic at hand, I was intimidated by Batman, and I'm not in the least bit ashamed to admit it. Yup, just like all the other crooks in Gotham, my heart always beats a bit faster at the sign of that bat spotlight in the cloudy sky, or his haunting silhouette that shadows you, or even- God forbid- that dang _glare_ he always has on his face when he looks at you.

But I also usually had a pretty good time with him around. He was nice to converse with; intelligent, calm. You don't get that much in Gotham. And here's another thing- I think of it as a kinda little secret I got- He's a _sucker_ for kids, and believe it or not, but I'm a kid, no denying that. I'm thirteen, but of course everyone thinks I'm eight or something with my small stature. It's not like he lets me get away or anything (though I always do), he just takes it a little easy around me. He likes to talk to me, which I wouldn't mind (I don't get to talk to many people), but I can tell he's just fishing for information, trying to figure me out. It pisses me off because I bet he's a real nice guy to have a talk with. He's just that sort of guy, beneath all the dark and cowl... or I at least think so. I don't know what his true identity is or anything. Slade knows, I bet, but he'd have no reason to tell me... but I'm still curious.

Night came all too quickly, and I double checked my utility belt one more time before exiting my room and into the main, circular room. Wintergreen was there, in the kitchen. I couldn't tell what he was doing though. Slade stood right in the middle, arms crossed behind his back and waiting. I approached him.

"Your pick up is at 10 pm- _Don't be late_," he said, and I almost shivered at the unspoken but clearly emphasized '_again_' at the end of the sentence.

I nodded, beginning to walk past him and to the door before he stopped me with his words, "Don't forget this."

I turned slowly, staring knowingly at the object in his hand. I'd purposefully left it out. I reached out, feeling the metallic surface of the gun, checking to make sure the safety was on before I placed it into the furtherest slot of my belt.

Every mission he did that, just silently handed me or strapped the gun to my hip. He acted like it wasn't much- just casually made sure I had it then sat back down on the couch to his work, but it was always silent and he always made_ sure_ I had it- It was that silent pressure that made me tense all over.

I didn't say anything, as traditionally, and left.

Getting into the stadium wasn't all that hard (any security that didn't at least match up to the Justice League's was so). The only thing that proved problematic, and by problematic I mean annoying, was the bulk of people around. It was the Gator's first game of the season, and so I had to be extra careful about not being seen. But I'd managed, and was now walking in the cold underground (which was remarkably home-y, if you can imagine) of the stadium's deeper layers. There was a distinct stink of socks surely coming from the training equipment stored in every compartment I'd passed thus far, and I was getting a bit of a headache from the consistency of it all.

Slade had, of course, narrowed down exactly where Bane's bust would be occurring, so all I had to do was follow the beeping of my arm computer until I got there. So as I walked, I began to strategize: All I needed was Batman, so separating us from Bane's men would be most preferable- How I'd exactly do that was the question. I wasn't sure of what type of environment we'd be in at the time, so using my surroundings wouldn't be a stable enough idea. The thought of engaging Batman head on, taking the focus onto me, and therefore giving Bane's men time to escape, was also a faulted one, as Batman was completely unpredictable in that sense. Who would he go after, I wondered, if it were between either me or Bane's men getting away? The more I pondered it, the more I realized I just simply didn't have enough knowledge to be able to accurately predict that, and thus another scraped play. My next idea was to maybe avoid engaging the Bat, and simply let Bane's men do the work for me while I wen't after the pouch on his belt, but to get so close to him undetected... risky.

There wasn't much more time for thinking in the later moment however, as the coil on my arm began beeping erratically, and the next, a loud crash and bright light. Right after this the shatters of cement walls and a black mob of cape and cowl collapsed onto the aftermath of rubble.

I stared in surprise at what had just ensued, glancing into the now gaping hole in the wall and into none other than Bane's beady, destructive eyes. He looked at me with his large (and what seemed like a) lazer gun, considering me, before nodding slowly, grabbing his duffle bags, and leaving the Bat to me, his men stumbling after him right after with wide, unbelieving looks.

I then looked back to the situation at hand. That went... better than expected. Leaning into a crouch by the dismantled body, I observed his state and diminished his injuries to perhaps a nasty headache and bruising, which was surprising to say the least after he'd _crashed through the damn wall_. Bane's mean looking gun (which _definitely_ didn't fire regular bullets) must have took the real impact with the wall that had it crumbling, and then Batman the fall afterward along with the trauma of what'd happened. Yeah, today was clearly not one of his finest.

I felt a little spooked almost, right then, when I realized how close I was to _the _Batman's body. The way Batman was held, you'd assume he wasn't human and only realize you'd felt that way when you were faced with his actual living carcass. Almost like meeting a famous singer- it never registers they have the same bodily functions that you do until you're sitting right there in front of them.

I then eerily remembered the feeling of cool metallic in my hands, and immediately I clenched at the thought, looking hard down at the collapsed body in front of me, as if even glancing from him would unleash the bullet in its holster.

I don't know what triggered (pun not intended, I swear) the notion, maybe the looming presence of Slade in my mind, or how I'd just been day dreaming on the dilemma, but I'd conjured it up somehow, and I decided, rather warily, to approach the idea.

Killing Batman would finally bring my killing expectancy to a halt (all out freaking burying it eight feet under the ground style, actually). It'd be a good kill too- killing freaking Batman. He caused all sorts of problems in Slade's exploits... But killing a man already down? Was that dishonorable or something? I didn't think there really was much honor in killing- I mean, you're _killing _somebody! How polite could you get? Not that I would really know- I don't know much about killing people, really. There was also the fact that killing someone as important as Batman would have its consequences. I'd definitely get the wrath of the whole damn Justice League, and who knows who from his personal life. Maybe even some villains would get pissed, seeing Batman as their own vengeful life to take, and then turn their grudge onto me once he's gone. It was better to just follow Slade's orders, anyway. Don't wanna go about killing people without consulting him first. My time would come. Slade would give that call one day. I wouldn't need to worry about it...

I didn't have much time to brood over it more, as in the next second another super human shot through the wall- or, super_s- _a whole team, actually.

They were young, was the first thing I noticed, and I didn't recognize any of them, was the second. Or at least that was what I first expected before I caught the eye of a certain traffic light costume.

The one and only Boy fucking Wonder. _Great_.

"Batman!" was the beginning of Robin's (many) comments that evening, his eyes staring wide at his mentor in worry. His domino mask (which was much like mine), slowly dragged up to me, the figure standing above Batman's defeated and knocked-cold body.

Oh wholly hell, this looked bad.

"_Ravager,_" he seethed with a surprising amount of hate for such a young age, lunging back into a fighting stance, "What did you _do_?"

"Uh.." I shifted my feet, looking at Batman and then back to him with an equitable innocence, "...nothing?" Well I mean, I did consider murdering him just a few moments ago, but that was only a passing faze, I swear. But now that I thought about it, if I had, y'know, gone through with it, and Robin had walked in- Oh, it'd be bad.

Robin growled, feet grinding harder into the floor, biting his lips fierily- He'd always been feisty.

Robin had been in this business just a few years less than me. He wasn't too impressive, but damn, he threw some mean punches. His acrobatics could get him from place to place, but over all he lacked in the department (at least compared to me), and his tendency to get caught up in his positively endless fury eliminated his clear mind on the field or trustworthy smarts, but he was relatively clever so it wasn't like he was an _idiot_ or anything, he just... wasn't up to Batman standards of what you'd expect from his apprentice. In fact, you'd first get a look at Robin's fighting style and think he played for the other team... the villains, I mean. He was so tough about it- way more tough than me- in the strength sort of way. I didn't know much about his endurance or emotional type of tough, as I'd assume with his short fuse he'd wear out quickly, but who knows. All I knew for certain was that his punches hurt, and that Batman wasn't as fun with him around; they'd skip right into the action with his prompting (huh, 'prompting', more like _stabbing_).

"You know of him?" asked a broad looking teenager, and my interest notched at one look of his t-shirt. Was that Superman's symbol?

"Yeah, I know him," he answered back still looking deadly at me, but that was ok because that gave me the chance to annoy him even more by looking anywhere but at him. Robin was fun to annoy... to a point. I'd have to be careful with my antics now that Batman was hurt; it'd have to leave Robin _somewhat_ vulnerable be it he show it or not, and he could get _real _angry when you're hitting him when he's down.

The Superman-Shirt-Guy was, as I mentioned, very broad-shouldered. He had short-cut black hair, blue eyes, noble face, and strong build. He looked a lot like Superman.

"What's with the Superman clone?"

From the way everyone tensed, I think I'd hit it pretty close to the mark, and by the way Super... boy(?) was staring at me, I'd probably not want to touch it further, especially if he had any sort of relation to Superman.

I looked away from him and to another one of the teenagers. This one was a flying, red-haired, green girl (Well wasn't this the most interesting group yet?), I could tell she was a bit open-hearted by how her eyes watered at the mere sight of Batman, and how reluctant her body language was at everything in the defensive sort of situation. My prediction was a Martian, with the abilities, looks, and sensitivity exposed for right now.

The next was another girl, normal tan skinned but in a green suit. Her blonde, almost yellow, hair was pulled into a high, long pony tail that she'd really outta cut off if she didn't want some villain taking ahold of it and swinging her out a window. She had a bow at the ready, along with many arrows on her back, and with the evidence of her color theme and weapon choice, I'd suspect an ally of Green Arrow, but I'd thought that was Speedy's deal.

Beside her was a dark skinned, tattooed fellow with a shaved head and mixed but fitting clothes. What was really interesting about him however was his water katanas, and I mean that literally; they were made of water. I suspected an Atlantian but that was only because the other teenagers around him seemed related to the Justice League's big numbers and Aquaman would be the closest fit for him.

And of course there had to be the little Flash duplicate himself, Kid Flash. I was as familiar with him as I was Robin and Speedy. He basically did everything the Flash did, along with all the witty jokes and grotesque appetite, but to a lesser extent. He wasn't as fast as Flash, but still _really damn_ fast.

"Oh! I know you!" Kid Flash yelled as if it were the grand master plan, and Robin looked at him just as deadly as he did me.

"You know him too?" the same muscled teen questioned, eyes slimming and looking angrily yet somehow bizarrely patient between the two boys.

"Yeah..." he crossed his arms almost casually, eyeing me over. "He's that Ravager guy. The one that steals all the stuff."

Spot on description there, Kid.

"And," he looked reluctantly disgusted as he rubbed the back of his neck, "..still manages to kick our asses over our heads time after time even though he's, like, eight or something."

Now Robin _really_ looked like he was about to kill him off, and the human girl positively delighted but still unimpressed as she turned to me.

"Haven't heard of him..." she commented cooly as though I wasn't there and I could tell she was the real hard-ass of the group... besides Robin, that is. Little guy could be so _serious_ sometimes!

"I wouldn't be surprised," Robin growled, and it was then I noticed he hadn't taken his eyes from me, apart from glaring at Kid Flash. He sure was angrier than usual, and I began to wonder why until I remembered Batman's state, and mentally "Oh"ed in stupidity.

"He's only a common thief- high ranking- but a thief." His teeth grounded so hard he'd need dental work. "Completely under the radar..."

The Atlantian, Martian, Super-clone, and Ms. Veggie-colored still looked confused, and, in fact, more confused than before.

"Well, now that everyone's enlightened- Can I go now?"

It was a simultaneous, "NO!" followed by Robin's loud marching, but by the time he'd made it halfway to me I'd flipped up to latch onto the ceiling's pipes, releasing multiple smoke bombs, and just because I'm nice like that, only a few of them were laced with some nasty cough components.

I was to my swift getaway when something grabbed my foot, almost sending me face-splat into the ground, but I'd balanced on my arms and other leg soon enough, and whipped to look at my manic little opponent.

Robin was obviously well experienced in smoke bombs, but that was ok, because I was too.

Smirking, I easily kicked out of his black glove's grip and leaned most of my weight onto my elbows, facing him, and swung my legs in what might look like a break-dance move but was actually a nice way to build up momentum for my kicks which could be much less effective without the nice boost. I leaped up with the motion, extending only one leg out, the other bent at the knee. He'd dodged my extended leg, as expected, and was unable to counter it or grab on with the close range attack, and squandered right into line of my bent knee, which I unleashed upon his face.

While he staggered back, I landed down in a crouch before slowly lifting, watching in what might have been a little jealousy as he simply wiped at his face, not even knocked down by my force, spitting onto the floor with a tint of red left in its residue. He looked up, into my eyes, and we shared an intense mental-hate-game. His scary-stare was by far a more terrifying one, what with the bloodied and busted lip, along with his in general more harder look. Mine was more along the lines of teasing, antagonizing... which, by God, drove Robin berserk.

By now the smoke had cleared, and though disoriented and a little red-eyed, the team instantly caught on to the action beside Bird-Boy.

"Kid, go get help. Batman's hurt!" the supposed Atlantean called over to the said quickster, who nodded rather surprisingly obedient over to him and zoomed off, most likely to inform the League. This Atlantean must have some sort of authority over him, or, as I continued to wonder, was a leader of sorts to this group as I examined their team-like attributes.

The team wasn't coordinated, but undeniably armed in the power department, and no matter how much I could out-think them or use their prideful individuality against them, taking them all at once would be tricky... Starting to regret not putting many cough-smokes in there...

… and then I remembered the Kryptonite. Ah! Good thing I hadn't released that cough smoke! Otherwise I would have left, having completely forgotten- Aaaaand there's a foot.

Light on my feet, I managed to one-hand cartwheel from the kick Robin had sent my way with a savage growl that was so very much like him, and smirked as he dove behind me and into the floor.

Superboy launched after not too far behind, a fist aiming right for my head that surely would have killed me if I weren't fast enough to duck down. I cocked a brow at this show of utter lack of restraint, something rather deadly and very un-League approved that I almost felt the need to report back to them like some bad review of a restaurant. He went shooting right through the wall, and as I looked amusedly back at him, realized he'd actually knocked out 3.

Jeez, bit much for your standard, _human_ criminal, don't you think? They were _so_ getting a bad review now.

But I digress, let them figure it out on their own, and hopefully before they've done too much damage.

I sprinted for Batman, which left Robin letting out another crazy shriek as he went after me.

I, of course, was faster and reached Bats first, and was just fishing through his pockets when the head of a spear aligned to my temple. Looking up I met dark eyes, furrowed in the concentration of an archer.

The Aqua-Guy paused in his slicing katanas, lowering them as he grinned. "Nice work, Artemis."

Wasn't that a bit premature? They really were a new team.

The girl, Artemis, seemed not as amused. "Move and you're dead."

My eye brows rose at this, the bit of very un-hero-like terms and tone catching me off guard for a moment until once again, caught off guard, Robin dived into me from behind.

"Robin! I had hi-"

Just as she began I cut her off, throwing Robin over my back and into her.

He _really_ needed to work on that grip.

I also took this time to flick a bola to immobile the Fish, which was greeted with a startled grunt and topple of both body and weapons.

I quickly looked about for the Martian, but when I found her she remained frozen, hands curled in fear. When she noticed my gaze she floated down to her knees, looking at me with penetrating eyes.

In all good sense I should immobile her too, but Super was returning, and more enraged than before.

While they were recovering (which was exceedingly humorous to watch as they bickered all the way through, a true miscalculation of their priorities), I searched through Batman's belt quickly, clasping the glowing green stone within its pouch.

But as I hooked it to my belt, a black, gloved hand squeezed my own, and this time, it was larger and much, much stronger.

With shocked eyes I followed the hand to its cowled owner. Batman was flickering in and out of consciousness, his visible mouth and chin grimaced in pain as a soft grumble fell from his lips. And though this all indicated to a weak man, his eyes were incredibly strong. I knew because I was looking right at them. They were dark, staring right into my own pupils, and I had no doubt in my mind that at that moment he knew they were blue.

In those eyes I saw a real, living man. Something I have often not associated with the Bat. He was a real human being... that I had considered killing not too long ago.

The thought of it sent a shiver down my spine, if his imprinting eyes hadn't already triggered one.

In a swift movement I released my hand from his, jumping through the hole in the wall and up into the vent on the ceiling. Right behind me I caught Batman easing up, and blocking the younger super heroes from following me.

Confusion stirred in me but I didn't wait long to see why he'd stopped them. Yet I'd hesitated just long enough to hear him grunt, "Don't." along with Robin's resounding yells.

How very unsettling.

When I'd arrived back home, I wasn't entirely sure if this was a satisfying victory.

**High five to anyone who knows where Chang is from :) ****Oh yeah, and there's a Robin in this fic. I'm pretty sure you can all guess who's under the cowl, but let me further explain age-stuff as it's different in this AU: They are both thirteen, Dick has been going since age 8, while Robin has been going since age 10. Any further questions about this AU will gladly be answered! **


	4. Kicking and Screaming

_**Just wanna say, I never intend to not finish this. But updates will be a problem- That's just me. I will DEFINITLY try harder for this story, because I'm fucking hyped as hell for it. Believe it or not, but I am always writing. It's just writing for future chapters, ideas, moments I want to have, and then what really takes time for me is trying to fill in the gaps between these writings. I hope you still enjoy!**_

For once in my life I truly felt like Slade was hiding something from me. It was incredibly disheartening thing to feel because there was something about honesty that really made everything ok, and Slade is an incredibly honest guy... or was.

I know, who would have guessed? His_ freaking _moral compass, man. In truth, Slade never really _had_ to lie to me, because I and his intensions were always the same; mission wise. I was usually the only differentiating variable in this sense because I wanted to eat for comfort, go out for the sake of curiosity and basically enjoy myself. Slade... I don't know what he truly wants out of life, but all I know is that it's very different from my own. Yet I could still identify with these unknown intensions, so it all worked out in the end despite our few bumps (mainly caused by me).

And what I had just encountered was Slade's bump.

Slade could immediately tell when I was lying to him, so when he looked me in the eye, saying flatly, "It doesn't concern you." I knew he was lying to me. So funny that I could tell, as an uncountable amount of times I've sat late at night wondering if really Slade was a liar, but I was too figured out, too manipulated to be able to decipher it. All those worries were gone now though- because that right there was a lie, and I haven't felt that ever, and there's no other variation of it. And that empty space was then replaced with another worry; why was Slade lying to me?

You see Slade had been acting really sketch lately- more than usual, I mean. Slade was, of course, never a really open person (I think the only relationship where it is he who has to go seeking out a conversation with is Wintergreen), but never particularly lengthy in concealing anything. Sure, he was protective (_crazy_ protective), but he didn't give two shits about what you knew or what you thought about it. It was admirable, really, to accept all your darkest intentions with a head-first, and not at all bashful, approach of getting it... and a bit concerning (but that was obvious; just look at his profession).

But he'd been decisively keeping me out of stuff- stuff he was obviously worried about, and Slade being _worried_ was not a _thing_. A fucking mythical creature had just swooped in through the window (we didn't even _have _a window) and this is Slade forbidding me to pet it, and doing so in an annoying tactic of pretending _that nothing is there when clearly there is a dragon in the living room. _

… But you get what I mean. Slade's hiding business stuff from me and acting like he's not.

Of course I wasn't about to go up and ask... Then again, Slade was a man for a straight forward approach. Yet, a tingling feeling inside of me reasoned he wouldn't appreciate it this time around.

So Slade was lying to me, and I had no idea what to do.

That is, except go out.

_Somewhere Else _

Screaming in the halls of justice was a regular thing. It wasn't before, but now very much so. I _knew_ we shouldn't have formed a kid team. But, of all the people, Batman was pretty adamant about it, and also Flash... Though, Flash's opinion wasn't exactly- eh- reliable. I truly think he just thought of it as a fun little thing to have. But _headaches_, and _screaming_, was not _fun_.

Man, if the people truly knew how the Man of Steel felt about children the world would surely riot. I have to say I'm not too good with living up to reputation; It all had to do with my morals, and that was composed of two things: Good, and Justice. Putting children in harm's way was definitely not good- and neither was their company in a high-work environment.

Just as I contemplated this Robin came zooming out the zeta tube, screaming some livid debate about a flood they were assigned to help aid stranded civilians.

It was funny, much like the Batman, Jason was the root cause for the sudden, focus-ripping yelling in the halls.

That Batman family sometimes...

"What? Let him go- Let _him_ go-"

"Robin," Aqualad sighed, his usual cool composure shaken into a tired glaze. "There were _people_ on that roof-"

"There was also a fucking-"

"Language," Artemis mumbled, sighing and dropping off from the zeta tubes into a sloped chair.

I rose a brow, staring at the scene inquisitively. Even I, a man of so little communication with the few, young heroes could identify the oddness that was Artemis scolding over bad lingo.

Robin reaffirmed his gaze at her, eyes blazing and unrelenting. "That fucking _thief_-" Artemis grimaced further, but spoke no more words, rather resigning deeper into her chair, "-who had hurt them. He was- He was getting away with that stuff! How could we let him? How could we let him get away when he was bound to go off and hurt someone else!"

"Robin, we understand-"

"Big shit you understand!"

Aqualad continued bravely, carrying on into the unrelenting storm that God knows had probably lasted more than a couple hours, "I understand why, Robin. I really, really do. But that roof was going down, if we hadn't evacuated them right then they would have been swept into the stream, and who knows what would have become of them after that."

Robin growled unceremoniously, crossing his arms to look brashly to the side.

Artemis spoke up next, through tired, messaging hands on her face, "He couldn't have gotten far anyways; hopping from cement to cement in that condition? With all that hardwire he'd cashed up? Wouldn't have fared him good... Anyways, he's probably locked up now, and not going _anywhere_ in that flood."

Robin didn't speak, bottom lip tight.

And then Aqualad picked the wrong time to talk, "Robin what you did is unacceptable even if you had made the right call. I, as leader, expect that the _moment_ I give yo-"

And then Robin was gone quicker than the flash of his cape.

They sat in calm, beautiful silence.

Aqualad didn't look nearly as pleased as I felt, however, his eyes pleading in remorse. "Perhaps I shouldn't have-"

"Oh quiet," the blonde, still sat, breathed through her aspiration.

Aqualad silenced, eyes turning to look upon her, but paused and widened at the sight of me.

Darn, my disguise has foiled me once again.

"Su-Super-" he clammed up, bowing his head hastily. "I am so sorry, if I had know-" his eyes looked up, then quickly flashed down again. "That was handled very unprofessionally on my part, and I am sorry you had to see that. It won't happen again."

My heart curled in surprised pity at his statement. "No worries, no worries," I laughed, waving my hand away at his composure which not once had faltered... It seemed it was just a part of his personality. "A man cannot be judged by the actions of one of his teammates."

"A leader can," Aqualad stated, then realizing what he'd said, quickly looked to begin another apology.

"Don't worry about it, Aqualad." I grinned in approval. "And yes, very true."

Aqualad smiled back, affirming and confident.

He really was a good pick, on Aquaman's part. Maybe young heroes wouldn't be_ all_ headaches.

"AYYYE-YOOO!" A flash slammed into Aqualad's once firm side and turned it into a stumbling mass as Kid Flash slapped him on the chest brotherly. "Good day, good day- Saving everyone, right?" a big grin was over his face, and it widened even more once he'd spotted me. "S-Man!" he called, opening his arms wide as though preparing for a big embrace and I'd almost taken a step back in fear.

I may retract that previous statement. Young heroes were definitely, _definitely_ headaches.

Then again, same could go for their mentors.

_In Another Particular Mentor's Cave_

Suddenly aged-by-stress-creases became evident to him in his forehead once he'd finally calmed enough to smooth out his face, and feeling the familiar post—cowl-grease of his hair he'd further inclined to finally clean up a bit like Alfred had insisted hours ago. But then again he was Batman, and he'd continued working.

That is until his usual disturbance from work showed up, his one and only sidekick and ward, Jason.

The boy didn't even have to _do_ anything and he'd immediately averted his concentration. Jason had a way of doing that; being the only one who could concern him enough to prioritize over his perfectionist schedule.

"Jason," freshly-un-cowled Bruce grumbled, his voice still sunken into its gravely, Batman-tone.

The boy's stomps were magnified by the cave's echoey tendency.

"Why wasn't I made team leader?"

Bruce sighed. Not this again.

"Robin, there are some attributes-"

"Is it because he's older?"

"Don't interrupt me," Bruce growled, sending a just as threatening glare as he could as Batman into Jason's back as he attempted to undress by the uniform pantry. "And look at me when I am talking to you." The teenager stiffened, reluctantly wobbling to face his mentor with a heated gaze pointed right at the floor.

Bruce took a calming breath. "You are more experienced, yes." Bruce contemplated just a moment, trying out his next words carefully, "But, you are uncommunicative to your teammates. I'd go even so far as to say you _disregard_ your teammates."

These words weren't meant to be so harsh, and he felt a cruel sting as Jason recoiled... but it was the truth, and this boy needed the truth.

"Just," Bruce struggled in explanation, "try to work with them. It was my fault you were not specifically trained to fight along side other styles differentiating from mine- that's my bad- But you have the reigns now, Jason. You have a team who is just as unused to this dynamic as you, and you are so far the only one not making an effort to reform." He leaned forward, even more gravely serious than usual. "That is part of growing stronger; to change, develop- You will never learn this by sticking to your own ways."

"I really don't want to hear it right now, Bruce, I really don't."

"Then why did you ask?" He immediately regretted his sharp comment.

"I don't-" a frustrated growl erupted from the prodigy's chest as he began a quick path to storm out, as usual when confronted with his anger.

"Take a breather, son," Bruce tipped off at his retreat.

"Please, do not?" Jason groaned on his way out, slamming the door and making the man sat at his work chair smile slightly at the antic.

He just needed time to cool off, that's always what he needed...

Batman grimaced.

A sharp beep clicked his mind off its current, troublesome thoughts and to the monitor. Notable Disturbance, the bright lettered words flicked onto the screen as he punched in a key that immediately leapt the view to a street side, a column of text appearing below it explaining: Identified, Ravager.

_**All the support I can get is much appreciated! **_


End file.
